


The Taste

by orphan_account



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-20
Updated: 2010-10-20
Packaged: 2017-10-12 18:58:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/128019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gangster/forbidden love AU. Arthur passes by Eames' territory on the way to work everyday, and the motorcyclist loves to goad him with corny pick-up lines. But why him of all people?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Taste

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I have no claim to Inception or any of its characters.

  
The roar of fifteen motors temporarily deafened the busy city street as onlookers watched in a mix of curiosity, bewilderment, and scorn. A finely-dressed young man, refusing to halt in his steps, was knocked over by one of the bikers and hit the pavement with a loud thud.

“Wake up, Arthur!” a concerned voice called out faintly.

Arthur? Hmmm, I guess that would be me, he thought. But where am I? Was I dreaming?

A sharp slap to the face blasted the dashing gentleman into consciousness, who blinked as his vision cleared to reveal his best friend, Dom, gazing anxiously into his eyes.

“What happened?”

“Those jackasses rode by as we were crossing the street. One of them slammed into you,” Dom replied with an air of disgust, helping his friend up. “If this kind of nonsense happens again, I swear…”

“I pass by gang territory every morning on the way to Tom’s,” Arthur offered, reluctantly, an image of full supple lips flooding his mind. No, please keep those indecent thoughts out of your head, Arthur, he lambasted himself. As if it’s not enough that they appear in your dreams every night.

And most importantly, don’t let Dom realize you have anything to hide. “I was almost late to work the other day. They’re lowlifes for sure.”

Except him.

“You really need to get an apartment in a nicer part of town, Art. You’re going to get mugged and stabbed for a twenty dollar wallet one of these days,” Dom prophesized, seemingly ignorant of Arthur’s sudden embarrassment. He always had his suave blonde hair slicked back, but a stray strand of hair seemed to be occupying his attention at the moment. “I keep telling you there’s plenty of space chez moi. The west side’s a lot safer plus Philippa and James would love having their ‘Uncle’ Arthur around.”

“I’ll think about it,” Arthur agreed, though secretly rejecting the offer. He was a quiet soul who needed his privacy, though the children were the highlight of his week whenever he had time to travel out to Dom’s pricy penthouse.

And the highlight of his day was…

“Wonderful.” Dom smiled and resumed walking as they had been before the interruption. “Let’s get to the theater before Mal calls the cops. You know how she worries.”

Yet Arthur could not have told you the name of the film afterwards because his mind kept wandering off, thinking back to his first week at the jewelry store’s new location.

***

A cloudy sky colored the morning with a gray tint. Industrial soot, Arthur said to himself as he strolled along from block to block, the new shade a la mode.

“Hey baby, are you free tonight or will it cost me?” called the tattooed and ruggedly handsome man on the street corner ahead, next to a proudly polished motorbike. He grinned and gave a hint of a wink before taking another tug on his cigarette.

“Fuck off,” Arthur muttered under his breath as he passed by, avoiding eye contact. Out of all the possible neighborhoods to walk through, why did I have to traverse this guy’s turf?

The snub only caused the smug thug to chuckle as he blew smoke into the immaculate young man’s face. Great, my favorite suit, he thought, I’m going to have to take a trip to the drycleaner’s again after work.

“What’s wrong? You need a bigger rod up your tight ass, suit-boy? It is within my power to make that happen, you know.”

Enough! This sort of outrageous taunt was completely uncalled for, and after five days of being pelted with absolute drivel, the gentleman had reached the end of his rope. Arthur turned around, clearly infuriated, reaching out and grabbing the man firmly by the collar. Such maneuvering came surprisingly naturally to him despite his lack of training. He was, as his mother always claimed, blessed in the realm of physical acrobatics.

“Why the fuck won’t you leave me alone?” he growled, as menacingly as his thin frame would allow.

Caught by surprise, the man quickly recomposed himself with his usual amount of overconfident flair added now with a sadistic delight twinkling in his eye. “Eames,” he smiled, offering his hand for a shake. “And by the way, your condescension is much appreciated.”

Arthur could do nothing but raise an eyebrow and his voice. “Did you hear me, street-punk? I don’t know why you decide to harass me every morning, but I’m just trying to get to work in peace. Would you kindly step off?” His high-class upbringing momentarily overpowered his egalitarian ideology.

Eames overdramatically pretended to be in deep thought for a few seconds then admitted, “Well to be perfectly honest, I couldn’t avert my eyes from your derriere. I’d assumed it was on public display on account of your britches being a couple sizes too small.”

Arthur, exasperated, let go and shook his head. This guy is a lost cause. I should never even have tried. He turned to leave.

“Hang on. You forgot something, love.” It all happened so fast that Arthur barely had time to process the events. Eames grabbed his arm, turned him around 180 degrees, and pulled the aristocrat in for a full passionate kiss.

Arthur could do no more than stare wide-eyed into the ruffian’s unexpectedly attractive face. His face tingled delightfully from the stubble rubbing against it, and those lips… they felt as good as they looked.

Complete shock. Disbelief. Paralysis. A twinge of déjà vu?

He tastes like cigarettes and booze, Arthur thought, unable to control his subconscious reactions. But there was something else indescribable something oh so dark delicious and sweet. Like a black cherry dipped in cream.

When he finally regained strength in his limbs, a newly-reddened Arthur pushed Eames away, backhanded him swiftly on the cheek, and marched off towards the shop. Damn this tightness in my pants, he swore, they seem to have momentarily shrunk…

Eames smirked, rubbing his face, as he noticed his prey scurrying away, holding his briefcase self-consciously over himself.

***

“Who is that one gangster down near Tom’s Jewelry? You know the buff one with the motorcycle and the tattoos and the stupid grin?” Arthur said over dinner with Dom, Mal, and Ariadne, Mal’s younger sister and Dom’s sister-in-law. Finally, after weeks of tiresome morning taunts, he broached the delicate subject with his friends.

After an awkward silence and quite a few inquisitive glances, Mal answered, “Well, I’m fairly certain that none of us associate with the likes of him, but that one has gotten his name into the papers quite a few times. If I recall, his group is called PDR for Pas de regrets.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard about him too. ‘Gang leader establishes orphanage on 56th street’ was the headline wasn’t it? But I’m sure no good intentions went into the endeavor,” added Ariadne between bites of her Caesar salad. “It was obviously a publicity stunt. Proletarian indeed.”

“Don’t worry, ladies. Arthur is merely disgruntled from his run-in the other day and wants to know who’s responsible,” nodded Dom in self-reassurance. He then turned to Arthur, “That guy is Eames. No one knows his first name or cares what it is as everyone calls him that. He’s a wily son-of-a-bitch, and you’d be well-advised not to seek revenge.”

So he wasn’t lying about his name, Arthur mused. “Clearly that is not an option as these vagabonds have nothing to lose anyway,” he chortled, changing the subject then to the politics of the hour.

***

It was night before Arthur broke off with the other three and headed south back to his apartment alone. Although used to pretentious airs, he often loathed the stuffiness and prejudices that came with upper class society and cherished time to himself.

As he was about to round the last stairway to his third story suite, something came out of the darkness and grabbed Arthur, silencing him with one hand and leading Arthur’s finger with the other across rough denim until it reached something hard and throbbing with heat.

“Tell me you don’t want that,” a familiar voice rang out, albeit with more serious intensity than ever. It was Eames. He loosened the grip on Arthur’s face for a second to elicit a response.

“Fuck no! What are you doing here? I’m calling the police!” Arthur spit in halfhearted anger; in his loss of composure, he let slip the relief gliding through his veins. At least it wasn’t an axe murderer.

This time his cries were silenced by the gangster’s lips as Eames turned Arthur’s head to the side for a kiss, maintaining his own body’s posterior position. He managed to emit a dialogue strung between smacks as he gasped for air.

“I know how you feel about all the teasing. You fucking love it. Tell me you don’t. I know it gets you hot. I know from the tiniest moments when our eyes meet that you think about it all day. I know you think about me when you touch yourself. I know you scream my name as you climax. I know you wake up from dirty dreams wishing it was my sweat covering your body.”

Black cherry vanilla. Arthur’s unintentional but eager moans were muffled by Eames’ experienced tongue, which burrowed its way into the slimmer man’s mouth. Assured of his ironclad control, his other hand had since traveled down over Arthur’s checkered vest to undo his trousers with expert fingers.

“Mmm, I can tell that I wasn’t wrong about any of my claims. You’re a nasty little cockslave aren’t you?”

“I fucking hate you,” Arthur whispered hoarsely as Eames rubbed the tip of his nose across Arthur’s face to meet in perfect symmetry for another liplock.

Arthur was flushed a deep scarlet both from humiliation and the amount that he enjoyed said humiliation; he took much pride in his appearance and was all but certain that such appearance could be nothing short of disheveled by this point. He shook as Eames fondled him through his undergarments like a mere toy and felt so vulnerable being at the mercy of the stronger man’s whims.

“Oh, but you don’t, do you?” Eames purred as he dipped down to nibble at Arthur’s neck and earlobe. “Erections speak louder than words, my darling.” Now the hand had wandered further, stroking velvety skin laced with pulsating veins.

Arthur breathed in deeply and tried his best to hold himself together, but it was no use. He was too far gone, and his subconscious had successfully neutralized all opposition. He came.

Upon the wave of pleasure that washed over him was a crest of horror. His pristine clothing was becoming more wrinkled and more covered in bodily fluids every second he spent in the other man’s arms.

Eames smiled sweetly as he licked his fingers clean, savoring every drop of ambrosia. “My turn?”

It was really more of a command than a question as the gangster lowered the still-shuddering Arthur until he was level with his fly. “Open it and take it out.”

Arthur could do nothing but comply with the rather persuasive man’s orders, although he nearly jumped as the prodigious organ slapped his jaw as it came free.

“You know what to do.” Arthur obediently lapped at it, giving it an overall layer of saliva mixed with precum, before engulfing as much as he could take. Eames closed his eyes and ground his teeth in bliss. How long had he waited for this moment? His hips commenced a gyrating rhythm, thrusting gently in and out of Arthur’s face.

After a few euphoric moments, he suggested, motioning towards the apartment door, “For the rest, we’ll want a bed.”

***

The sterilized and obsessively-organized bedroom of yesterday was now in complete disarray. Articles of clothing littered the plush carpet, the nightstand was knocked over and the lampshade torn, but worst of all was the majestic canopy bed, which was all but deveiled. All of its pillows of fine silks and delicate embroidery were strewn haphazardly across the room, one barely landing in the doorway to the living room; its sheets tattered.

Arthur groaned sleepily as he tried to stretch out, but his movement was cut short by the presence of a man sleeping behind him, his well-toned arm wrapped lovingly around the younger man’s waist.

He furrowed his brow trying to remember the events of the night before but couldn’t be sure if they’d actually happened in their totality or whether he’d supplanted his fantasies into reality.

“You’re awake finally, darling?” Hot breath tickled the airs on Arthur’s neck.

“Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

“Good to see that.” Apparently Eames had been feigning sleep so he could remain in bed, watching Arthur stir. “Would you like me to make some toast and coffee?” He sat up in anticipation of a nod, sheets pulling away from his body to reveal a broad shoulders and a muscled chest.

“Mr. Eames.”

“That would be me.”

“I don’t even know who you are.”

“Now that didn’t seem to bother you last night, hm?”

“Be frank with me, please.”

“I am a master of deception,” he stated, with that eternally self-assured grin. “I can be whatever I need to be. And whatever you want me to be.”

“A little more specificity would be helpful.”

“What’s that?”

“Spe-ci-fi-ci-ty,” Arthur enunciated, inadvertently rolling his eyes.

“Just trust me on this. I wouldn’t lie to you, so you need only take me at face value. What you see is what you get, in a sense.”

For some reason, the lying, cheating, thieving gangster seemed earnest enough to believe. “Hmm. Well I guess I haven’t offered much information on myself either. It’s Arthur.”

“I know.”

“Huh?”

“I found out where you lived, didn’t I?”

“Master of stalking too, I see.”

“I’ve had my eye on you for quite awhile.”

“Yeah, ever since that first catcall, eh?”

“Nah, long before that. You wouldn’t remember it anyway, so just forget about it.”

Attention officially piqued. “Oh come now. That’s just cruel.”

For the first time, Eames seemed the slightest bit out of his element. He pursed his full soft lips and gave a sigh before conceding, “Alright, but please don’t interject until I’m finished.”

“Deal.”

“I grew up in an orphanage just outside the city. None of the maintainers or caretakers had any idea where I’d come from and where my parents were. All that they told me was that I had been about three or four years old and walked covered in dirt and hungry.

“I didn’t speak much those first few years, and it suited me just fine. I just stood to the side and observed interactions between all the other kids. It allowed me to truly understand human mannerisms and emotions from an outsider’s perspective. Once we were old enough, we were sent into town to work.

“I was assigned a job on an assembly line building motorcycles. It was rough work. Long hours. But after a few months, I met some fellows who showed me a more lucrative way of earning my keep.

“I fought. With my fists. Anyone and everyone that would come my way. And people paid a lot of money to watch my shows after I established my reputation. It was quite simple really; it took a lot to make me feel pain, so I could outlast any sort of assault while concentrating on my own offense.

“One day, though, I had an opponent who refused to play by the rules. After a long and bloody encounter, I was proclaimed the victor. As I was raising my arms in celebration, the bastard jumped back up and stabbed me with a blade he’d hidden in his shoe. Confused and fearful of police intervention, the crowd panicked and scattered, leaving me to turn the pavement red.

“When I awoke I was lying in a hospital bed unable to see out of one eye because half my face was in bandages from battle wounds. All I could make out was a dark-haired young man speaking to the doctor.”

“Wait a second,” cried Arthur in disbelief. “That was you?”

Ignoring him, Eames continued, “After realizing I was conscious, he came over to me and said, ‘You were lucky I left my history book at school last night.’

‘How can I repay you?’ I managed to mumble.

‘Don’t worry about it. And your bill has been covered as well,’ the kid said. ‘I told my father it was for charity and I’d pay him back.’

‘But why do all this for a stranger?”

‘It looked like you needed a leg up in life,” he replied, turning to leave. ‘I hope you turn over a new leaf and forget about your past.’

‘No regrets?’ I asked.

‘No, none at all. That’s how I live,’ the lad smiled and disappeared around the corner.

“I’d never in my years encountered such kindness before, and I swore that I’d live up to that motto, Pas de regrets, find him, and return the favor someday.”

Arthur couldn’t help but interject, “So the favor you returned was abducting and raping me in a dark stairwell?”

“You can’t rape the willing, darling,” Eames retorted as he pulled Arthur in for a peck on the cheek and a tender embrace.

“And in your twisted little mind, all the dumb pick-up lines and sexual harassment was your idea of a courtship?”

“Exactly,” Eames smiled angelically. “Couldn’t very well ask you out on a romantic date to a fancy restaurant, could I? I have a reputation to maintain.” Tongue was solidly in cheek.

Arthur still had lingering questions. “About that reputation, how did you become the most feared hoodlum in town?”

“Haven’t you heard how loud these bikes can purr?”

Arthur crossed his arms in exasperation. “I’m serious.”

“Well, since I’d earned enough cash, I purchased one of the dented models from the factory and, along with some of my buddies I’d met on the streets, joined a gang, eschewing the street fighting scene. It wasn’t anything big at first. We dabbled in the shallow end of organized crime, doing jobs here and there, mostly security and delivery work. See? I tried to do you proud.

“This all changed, of course, when one of the leaders of a family was shot dead on a public street, starting one of the bloodiest gangland wars in recent history. I did what I had to do to survive. Some things I’d rather not talk about. But I don’t regret a thing.

“What kept me going was the promise I made to myself and the motto I’d adopted. It allowed me to look past the horrible things I saw and say, ‘Fuck it. This will be over someday. I’ll have him. And I won’t need anything else.’

“Since then I’ve been rising in the ranks. When it became safe to cross boundaries again, I sent people to get intelligence on you and found that you had moved out, wanting to work your way up as a jewelry store clerk. And here we are.”

“How’d you know I’d have you?” Arthur half-questioned, half-flirted.

“Even when wrapped up like a fucking mummy, you can’t mistake pure chemistry, love.”

This guy was unlike any other Arthur had met. He was uneducated, uncultivated, unrepentant, crass, deceptive, but most of all, dangerous. Yet somehow that only made Arthur’s heart beat faster as all other images were eradicated from his mind.

Arthur reached in for a kiss. One that seemed to last both a second and an eternity. Like a dream.

***

“You’ve been acting really strange lately, Art. Is something the matter?” Dom questioned over a cup of black coffee.

His reply was a dumbfounded yet guilty look. Best friends nothing, we must be conjoined twins, Arthur thought. That man can read my mind.

“N-no, nothing at all. Why?”

Dom sighed. “First you act all flustered talking about those bikers from PDR. Then you ask random questions about the gang leader. Then I hear from your neighbor, the old man next door called Mr. Miles, that you’ve been having company in the form of a certain aforementioned and tastelessly-tattooed persona. What the hell is going on?”

Arthur could have sworn he turned all the colors of the rainbow as he stared at Dom in utter terror. This shit could not get out. For either of them.

“Art… if you need money, you can always come to Mal and me. Don’t get mixed up in that gang business.”

“It’s not about money.”

“Ok, so you’re fucking him.”

Blasted telepathy!

“It is not unheard of for men of our class to frolic with each other, but come on, Arthur, what can possibly be tantalizing about that… beast?” Dom urged, more out of concern than contempt.

“He’s not a beast. He’s just as human as we are.”

“He’s killed people, Arthur. Face the facts. Scoundrels like him deserve to rot in prison.”

“Dammit, Dom, he’s not what you think he is.”

“Then what do you see in him?”

All that came to mind was a jumble of words. Stubble. Lips. Tastes like cherries and cream. Sexy smirk. Muscled bod. Eyes you could drown in. Oh, and hung like a fucking stallion. “I can’t really explain it.”

“What about Ariadne? You know she’s always pined for you.”

“Just because I kissed her on the playground ages ago? Come on now.” Arthur took a small sip of his café au lait. “Look, you can’t speak a word of this to anyone, understood?

Dom hesitated before agreeing, “Yes. But I hope you come to your senses soon.”

***

The knob turned. A clack as the door shut and a click as it locked.

“Hello there, beautiful,” Eames walked out of the kitchen, clad in only an apron and a smile.

Arthur wordlessly hung up his coat.

“You’re back early. I was trying to bake a pastry, just a black cherry cobbler, but the result was not judged to be edible.” Eames greeted, wrapping Arthur in a tight hug and giving his butt a rough squeeze.

Arthur remained silent until they’d sat down comfortably on his viridian green leather loveseat. “We need to talk.”

“What’s this about?” Eames’ face gave a slight twitch as his cheery façade cracked.

“One of my friends found out about us.”

Eames exhaled in relief. “And?”

“And? People talk. We can’t let this become public,” Arthur insisted sternly.

“Fuck’em.” Eames shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly.

“You can’t just fuck your problems away!”

“Really now? I was thinking just the opposite.”

“Honestly, my parents will murder me if they find out. They’ve been trying to match me up with an upper class girl for ages. And to realize that I’m sleeping with a notorious gangster? I’d be lucky if all they did was disown me! Not to mention the rest of their social group. We’d be ostracized faster than you can count to five.”

“Quite right that is. Math was never my strong suit.”

“Will you please stop joking around?” begged Arthur, slightly annoyed.

“All I got from what you’re saying is that you’re ashamed of me.”

“You know that’s not true; I don’t subscribe to their beliefs at all. I just feel like I owe it to my parents not to have them denounced by every friend they have on my account. Plus, don’t you have your gangland cred to consider?”

“Like I said, fuck’em. I don’t need anything or anyone else since I have you.” Eames put his arm around the slender man and nuzzled his cheek gently.

“I only wish life were that simple.”

“I love you, darling.”

“I love you too.” The words came out so naturally that Arthur didn’t have a chance to secondguess himself.

Maybe Eames is right, Arthur thought to himself. Dom was a trustworthy friend, so they would likely be able to keep their relationship under wraps for the time being. After that—if there is an “after that”—he would think of something.

They held each other until slumber swept over them both.

***

Perhaps it was the ecstasy of budding love, the satisfying day at work, or the sharp vest he was wearing, but Arthur definitely had a hop in his step as he left the shop and dashed towards his home.

It had definitely been a whirlwind affair, and to be truthful, the rational side of Arthur’s mind had been kicking its alter ego nonstop for the past few weeks. How do you know you can trust him? My heart says so. How do you know he won’t hurt you? My heart says so. Why do you think about him? My heart says so. Why do you dream about him? My heart says I should. Why do you love him? Because my heart does. You have no basis for any of this. I know, but if I don’t listen to my heart, it will break.

He did his best to displace this unsettling feeling and to soak up the rays of unfettered optimism that had temporarily peeked from his cloudy sky.

Arthur was uncharacteristically chatty as he shut the door. “I’m home. And I need to tell you this before I forget: I called my mother today—we were always closer than Father and I—and spilled my guts, and she just up and accepted it all. I guess she always knew I wasn’t that into girls. It was really a terrific surprise.”

No response.

“Eames?”

Silence.

He must be out running errands, Arthur thought. Ever since the week of their first passionate encounter, Eames had been staying over at his place. It was one of those things that just happened, and afterwards, you don’t remember what life was like previously.

After neatly putting away his jacket and briefcase, Arthur spotted a note sitting on the coffee table.

 _Dere, Arthur,_

i have some biznes to attend 2. plz dont worry about me. i will b fine.

but if i am not bak bi tommarow nite, dont wait up for me. we had gud times 2gethr. i dont regret a thing.

xoxo  
Eames

Arthur felt like a he’d swallowed a rock. A dull throbbing started beating his head like a drum.

He couldn’t recall how long he’d sat there staring blankly into space, but when he looked back down, he realized his knuckles had turned white gripping the sheet of paper.

His rational side took this opportunity to get a few words in. Get a grip, Arthur. You’re overreacting. You can’t take that man seriously. He’s probably out buying a carton of milk.

His emotions, on the other hand, were on a pendulum traveling the course between hysterical screaming and shocked numbness.

Was this a good-bye note? So he had just been a toy to him after all, one in a long line of others, chosen to fill out a ego-boosting list of conquest. But how did he conjure up the backstory?

Suicide note? He always seemed a bit loony but nothing like the type. What do you know about his type, Arthur? The only fact that you know about him is that he loves to bullshit. But how was something so badly written so cryptic?!

Full OCD mode flipped on like a back-up generator as his conscious mind was under emergency maintenance. Arthur spent the next hour, two hours, who knows how long, tidying up the mess Eames had left in the kitchen, which looked more like a science lab by then, re-ironing all the clothes in his closet, sorting and putting away each item, making his bed three different ways until he found the one that pleased him. Vaccuumed. Dusted. Then he turned to pacing, carving a trail in the revitalized carpet.

All the while the tick tock of the clock was driving him mad. Arthur could have sworn that it slowed to an agonizing pace just to spite him.

And out of the blue.

The rumbling of a distant vibration.

His heart stopped.

The loud vroom of a motor.

He held his breath.

Footsteps on the stairs.

His eyes widened.

Eames unlocked and stumbled through the door, his once-bleach white wifebeater and jeans soaked in blood.

A minor explosion could be seen from orbit. “Ohmygod!” Arthur exclaimed as Eames collapsed to the floor.

“No!” Arthur screamed and ran to his lover, tears forming in his eyes.

“What’s wrong, darling?” Eames smiled lopsidedly as he sat right back up.

“You bastard!” Arthur yelled, unable to control himself and shaking the jokester by the arms. “I was so fucking worried I was g-gonna. I don’t even know. But fuck. FUCK. I hate you.”

“It appears that in Arthurese, ‘I hate you’ has an alternative meaning,” Eames mused facetiously as he lightly stroked his honey’s lips.

Arthur pushed him away in a huff, standing and turning away. Realizing that he’d perhaps gone too far, Eames followed, gingerly placing his hands on Arthur’s shoulders, massaging them. “Listen, I’m sorry to have worried you so, love. But I did have a legitimate reason for writing what I did.”

“Where the hell were you?” Arthur finally spit out. Curiosity won out over anger.

“Fighting.”

“I thought you gave that up?”

“Well, this time it was for my life.”

“So that’s real blood on you?”

“Yeah, but not all of it’s mine.”

“Wait, if you’re injured, we should clean that up first. How badly hurt are you?” Arthur turned and guided Eames to the couch, hand in hand, his rage immediately deflating.

“Most of it is from scratches here and there. Though don’t be surprised if I’m be completely black and blue for the next couple of days.”

Arthur started inspecting his patient as diligently as a nurse. “Pull up your shirt.” Eames did as he was told, revealing a torn masterpiece: the sculpted torso was marred by several deep cuts dripping with blood, already-forming bruises, minor nicks, and what felt like a fractured floating rib.

“Scratches? You look like you got hit by a fucking truck. What happened?” Arthur rose and went digging in his closet for his first aid kit.

“I’ll be fine. Don’t gotta give me the inquisition.”

The dark-haired man started covering the deepest wounds with bandages, taping them up for extra pressure. “Someone’s already been there, done that. Now speak up or no sex for a month.”

“So cruel. You must be a medievalist.” Eames couldn’t help but feel butterflies stir to life in his midsection as he watched his “nurse” tend to his injuries. “This disgruntled dude—he’d always been trouble—wanted to challenge me for leadership of the gang. Ow.”

Arthur had gotten to the cut above the broken rib. “Yeah, I think this is broken.” He unrolled a large amount of bandage to wrap around Eames’ waist. “You shouldn’t be bending your upper body any time soon.”

“This bloke,” continued Eames, “calls himself Mr. Charles. I was going to knock him out quickly and get on with it, but then he started talking shit.” In a lower voice, uncharacteristically shaking with fury, “He said he’d seen us in the street and that we were disgusting, unnatural faggots.”

“Take off your pants too,” Arthur prescribed, searching for more pains to heal. Eames obeyed, undoing his belt and letting his jeans shimmy to the floor, and sat back down stark naked as he wore no underclothes.

“It was like something broke in me when I heard him and his men insulting you. I felt like I had to defend our honor,” Eames recalled. Arthur was pleased to see that his beloved had suffered far fewer injuries below, laundering him with little kisses down from his navel to the delicious musk of his hair. “So I went berserk and really laid into him.

“When his men saw the lashing I was handing out, they came in to help, which is when I sustained most of my scratches. I was lucky they only carried small knives and no handguns. But let’s not talk about this anymore; this won’t happen again.”

“Damn well better not,” Arthur concurred, rubbing his face against Eames’ groin, his arms wrapped around his lower back. He didn’t even care about the bloodstains that were surely setting on his button-down shirt and trousers; he was just so incredibly happy to have his lover back, to a degree that he didn’t imagine possible.

So this is the taste of true love. The crimson metallic note of blood dancing atop a nest of rich, dark cherries until the pair drowned in a sea of vanilla cream. Black and white and red. Perfect clarity yet aching pain.

“By the way your spelling sucks,” murmured Arthur as Eames placed his hand above his darling’s ear and ruffled his hair slowly with his fingertips.

“I’d tell you to take your intellectual elitism and stick it back up your ass, but it has a big ‘Occupied’ sign dangling over it.”

“Liar. It’s still vacant at the moment.”

“We’ll have to change this, won’t we?”

“You need to rest, hotlips,” Arthur admonished as he started to help Eames up to lead him towards the bedroom.

“I’ll be seeing you in my dreams then, my love.”

“It’s a date.”


End file.
